


Vivir de Recuerdos es Morir.

by Colorhersunshine



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 12:11:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17467301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colorhersunshine/pseuds/Colorhersunshine
Summary: "Vivir de recuerdos es morir.""To live in memories is to die."--Frida Kahlo





	Vivir de Recuerdos es Morir.

It was another one of those nights. A veil of sweat clung to her skin and she could feel the power under it, diminished, but still alive and coursing through. She hadn’t been prepared to go through life as what people labeled a “freak”, her own biology betraying her. She’d hadn’t been prepared for the man she saw like a father to degenerate how he did. The “World’s Greatest Mind” succumbing also to the failures of its own biology. She hadn’t been prepared to watch her family die. A wave of bitterness struck her yet again. Towards Charles. Towards DNA. Towards herself. With the years gone by, she still didn’t know what to do with it when it came. Drinking didn’t help and sleep wouldn’t come take her away from it.

The touch of another. An old remedy for the ailments of life. She’d hated it for so long, the sense that every normal human could enjoy, severed from her. Even among other “freaks” this one thing still managed to separate her from them. The first time she touched him, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his skin, rich and tan, began to turn gray and pallid before her very eyes. She drew her hand back, and he convulsed on the floor as if he’d put a fork in a socket.

As horrible as she’d felt for doing that to him, on nights like these she was glad she did. God, if she hadn’t…she didn’t want to entertain that thought.  
It was years before she made contact again. However, it was apparent they were made for each other. Every time after that, he went from enduring it to needing it. His body responding to her touch like a drug. To think she could have spent her life touching the wrong people. She didn’t crave the touch of another. No one else could suffice. Only his, but she knew she could never experience it again.

“Logan.” She thought as she closed her eyes, so tightly that the tears she’d formed began to trickle out.   
The pain of seeking him out was worth it, she had to channel her thoughts on him. Every memory, good and bad, played like a movie behind her eyelids. 

Logan in a cage, fighting like an animal. Logan writhing on the floor in pain after she touched him (to be fair, he stabbed her). Logan tightly embracing her on the bus. The smell of his hair after putting it in that stupid, but irresistible style. Logan’s broken smile he only let her see. Logan running his fingers though her gray streak and smirking. His hands wandering in the dark, then gripping onto parts of her, him prying her legs apart to get what he wanted and what she wanted to give him.  
Logan telling her to run, his blood vessels bursting in his eyes, crawling toward Charles. The world was so slow, but her mind was so fast, her skin felt as if it were tearing from her body. The pain was unbearable, tangling around her organs and splitting her apart. But Logan. Every part of her wanted to stay for him, but she also knew if she stayed, he’d be angry. 

The grimace of pain on his face as he watched her leave.

She knew he got out. She could feel him, running through her veins as much she was. She felt pain, aches, extreme sadness, and one day. The most pain she’d ever felt, a mix of hers and his. She didn’t need to see it happen to know.   
The belief that they’d find each other again was leaving, she could tell Logan was leaving her. His essence, his power that had been diminishing ever since that day they were ripped apart, fizzling out. 

The feeling was that of loss, but it was so much more. A cry tore through her throat. Logan would be angry at the torture she put herself through to cling onto him. He would tell her she was wasting her life mourning the end of his. But part of him would be satisfied, the animal in him successfully imprinting on his mate. 

She loved both. She missed both. She held both.

**Author's Note:**

> I know you weren't expecting me to write again. Neither was I. I'm rusty but inspired.


End file.
